


Ghost of the Citadel

by RedPandas



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Character Death, Dad!Cor, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Ghosts, IDFK folks we'll see how it goes, Junior Ghost Hunters Don't Know What They Are Doing, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Ouija Board, Reader-Insert, but also Sad!Cor you get me, eventually in a later chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedPandas/pseuds/RedPandas
Summary: You don't remember how it happened, but somewhere along the line you've gotten yourself killed.  Now you wander the halls of the Citadel; aimless, unable to move on...Until someone sees you.They may not have been very close to you in life, but Noctis, Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto get to know you quite well—and perhaps even come to call you friend—as they commune with your lingering spirit, and uncover the mystery behind your death.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't know what the fuck this is, or what that summary is doing, but here we are. 
> 
> This is, like, the second fanfiction I've written ever, and the first I've ever posted on a public platform. I can't guarantee this is going to be good; I have a handful of planned events, in no particular order, and 12% of a coherent plot, but I'm trying, goddammit. I had this first chapter sitting in my docs for days, editing it on and off, but I got tired of looking at it and I'm mostly just kicking words back and forth at this point. 
> 
> I just wanted to do something with my ideas for once!

_It hurts._

_It hurts.  It hurts.  Everything hurts.  Why does it hurt?_

You lay on the cold, hard, flat surface, barely able to process anything beyond the unbearable pain you were in.  You didn’t remember how you got there.  You didn’t remember when exactly the pain started, or what you went through to garner this level of agony.  Through the pain piercing through your being, you barely remembered who you were.

You did know that the silence was starting to get to you.

_Where am I?  Why is it so quiet?  Where is everyone?_

Slowly, you gathered the strength to open your eyes.  Bright, harsh light greeted you, but you found it did not hurt your eyes as much as it maybe should have.  Still, you had to blink several times before you were finally able to glance at your surroundings.

You were laying on a metal table, with the low-hanging lamp above you as the only light-source currently in the room.  The room, itself, was dark and fairly spacious, with a few other metal tables about, presently unoccupied.  Through the darkness, you could make out doors on the far side of the room, light streaming out from underneath it.  Immediately to the left of you was a smaller, metal table, with various surgical instruments lying on top of it.  

They looked used.  

Refusing to examine them any closer, you closed your eyes again.

_I want to go home._

Gritting your teeth, you found the strength to pull yourself to the edge of the table.  Your entire being cried out with the movement, but you forced yourself to push through the pain.  You couldn’t stay here.

Not wanting to look at the tools, you pushed the side table away.  It moved with far more ease than you were expecting, and fell over with a loud crash.  Unbalanced, you tumbled to the floor.  The metal table you were on rolled away, hitting the table next to it and adding to the cacophony.  

You lay there only briefly, disoriented from the fall—but strangely in no greater pain—before you pushed onward, crawling to the door.  You couldn’t stay here.  You had to get out.  Where are you?  Why did everything hurt?  

_What happened to me?_

On the other side of the doors was a long, dim hallway.  From the darkness in the windows, you gathered that it was late in the evening.  You were not certain when you got there—having no memory of opening any doors—or how you got to your feet, but you were disoriented and afraid and in so much pain that you did not stop to think about it.  Stumbling to the side, you slumped against the wall for support.

Hurried footsteps sounded down the hall.  Looking up, you saw a person in scrubs with a face mask and a surgical cap running in your direction.  Finally, another person!  You felt a relieved smile spread across your face, and you opened your mouth to address the approaching person.  Before your lips could even begin to form words, they ran past you, pushing open the doors, and disappearing into the room you just exited.

You stared back at the doors; did they not see you?  You wanted to follow them and ask what is going on, but you did not want to return to the dark room.  Hearing more footsteps, you turned to see more people in scrubs, all running past and into the room behind you.  None spared you even a glance.  You heard voices echo out from under the doors.  

“What’s going on?” one asked.

“I don’t know!” said another, “I heard a loud noise, and I came, and the room looked like this!”

You stood there, leaning against the wall for support.  You didn’t understand.  Turning away from the confusion, you made your way down the hallway.  Maybe you would find someone who did understand.

As you walked, your awareness came and went; the excruciating pain you were in earlier having not lessened in the slightest.  You wonder again what you could have gone through to warrant this.

Eventually, you come across a room you recognize: a training hall, frequently used by the Crownsguard, though presently empty due to the late hour.  This meant you were in the Citadel, but…

_What am I doing here?  How long was on that table?  What’s going on?_

_Why can’t I remember?_

A door eased open to the right of you, and you turn your head to see a lone man leave the locker rooms connected to the hall.  He was taller than you by some inches; his short, brown hair still a little damp from the showers; his severe blue eyes, downturned.  He was wearing more casual clothes than you would expect in the Citadel: a simple, plain t-shirt and track pants, the jacket haphazardly tied around his waist, and a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder.  In fact, it looked as if the man simply hadn't bothered to change back into his uniform, though with the darkness outside and the scarcity of people around, you could hardly blame him.  Unusual attire aside, you found that at the sight of the man, your pain seemingly disappeared.  

_Cor!_

The man who raised you shut the door behind him, before turning and heading down the corridor, presumably on his way home. You nearly tripped over your feet in your effort to catch up to him.  

As you got closer, you noticed his posture was uncharacteristically slumped, an unknown weight weighing heavily on his shoulders.  His head was bowed slightly, hair looking more malkept than you are used to seeing it, and he walked as if distracted by his thoughts.  You frowned; it was unusual to see the Marshal of the Crownsguard look so… defeated.  

_What's bothering him? Why is he here so late?  Has he been overworking himself again?  Has he been eating properly?  Sleeping?_

_“Cor, wait!”_ you called after the man, a thousand questions in your head.  He did not stop, or turn his head, or give you any indication that he heard you at all.  You weren't that far away and in an empty corridor, shouldn't he have heard you?  You did not understand.

 _“Cor!”_ you tried again, but again he did not respond, continuing down the hallway, getting farther and farther away from you.  The pain from earlier came back and you slowed to a stop.  Your ears rang as you stared at the back of the man who had looked after you since he took you in, all those years ago.  You wanted to cry, but the tears would not come.  You did not understand.

_“Dad!”_

Cor whipped his head around to the hallway behind him.  You let a hopeful smile spread across your face, and you opened your mouth to call out to him once more.  Before your lips could begin to form the words, you stopped yourself.  

Cor’s eyes scanned the hallway,  looking not at you, but _through_ you.  You watched as his face fell, and he shook his head, hand coming up to rub at his eyes.  Sighing to himself, he turned back around, and continued on his way.  You did not follow him.

It is only when he turned the corner and disappeared from your sight that you understood, in all this confusion, you had left your body behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats, you're dead! I killed you!
> 
> I don't know how to write mystery or suspense, but at this point, I'm too embarrassed to care.


	2. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that took a while. Sorry for the inactivity, a lot of changes happened in my life since I first posted and not gonna lie, I forgot about this for a bit. Still, I do want to continue this even though I can see it will take a very. long. time. As it is, I'm not going to make any promises.
> 
> I got so many nice comments?????? How wild I wasn't expecting anyone to like this enough to comment on it. I'm sorry I didn't answer any of you, I was so overwhelmed and also I'm bad at correspondences. It's a work-in-progress.

It was supposed to be a normal day for Ignis.  Stepping out of the elevator, he headed towards the front entrance of the Citadel, suitcase in hand and a headache building behind his eyes.

It was a Saturday afternoon, meaning the young Prince Noctis was at the arcade, skipping his royal duties in the company of his friend, Prompto.  Nineteen-year-old Ignis was off to collect him and persuade him to return to the Citadel to at least get some training done. The adviser will likely fail, and instead return the prince and his friend to Noctis’s appartement, where they will play on the prince’s consoles while Ignis goes over the notes he made for Noctis before cooking them dinner.

A normal day for Ignis.

He had just crossed the entrance hall when a voice called out to him, “Ignis, my boy, there you are! Off to collect the young prince, are you?”

The young adviser turned to see his uncle striding towards him.

“Yes, Uncle,” said Ignis, letting his posture relax slightly at the familiar face, “though I doubt I will be very successful.”

His uncle nodded sympathetically to his nephew, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were anything but, “And yet, I find it hard to believe you will put up much of a fight.”

Ignis pushed his glasses up his nose, and cleared his throat, gracefully choosing not to comment on that. “Was there something you needed, Unc--”

A loud bang cut him off.

“What was that?” Ignis started at the noise. It came from outside.

“I don’t know, dear boy.”

Staring at the front doors to the Citadel, Ignis could not help but think that today is not going to go the way he expected.  Still, he had duties to attend to and a prince to round up, so despite the eerie sense of foreboding, he made his way to the front doors.

Once outside, Ignis found the Crown City still standing right where he left it; cars were still bustling in the streets, people still hurried here and there, and the sky was still the disappointing overcast common for the autumn months.

Ignis felt a bigger relief than he cared to admit at the sight of this.  Logically, he knew the city would not have gone up in smoke in a single bang, being the most protected city on this star, but he was thrown off by the noise and was not sure what to expect next.

As it was, though the city was still intact, something did indeed happen which caused the loud bang he heard.  A small crowd of people was gathered around one of the cars parked at the base of the steps. The car was damaged; the roof, caved in from the force of something smashing into it from above, though from this distance, Ignis could not identify what that something was.  Spurred on by curiosity, he started down the steps.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him before he got far.  “Ignis, why don’t we go back inside,” said his uncle, but when Ignis looked back, the older adviser would not meet his gaze. His eyes were fixed on the damaged car, an unusually troubled look on his face.  

Uncertain, Ignis glanced back at the scene below, wondering what could cause his normally level-headed uncle such trepidation.  The crowd was growing larger, blocking the view of the car and whatever lay on top of it. Faintly, Ignis could hear unsettled murmuring rising from the crowd.  Unease coursed through his veins, and somehow the young adviser knew he should listen to his uncle. Yet even still, a morbid curiosity urged him to investigate.

“I have to collect His Highness, anyway,” he said, addressing his uncle, despite knowing that was just an excuse, and he should _really listen to his uncle_ , “excuse me, Uncle.” Turning back around, he continued down the stairs.

His uncle called out to him again, but this time, the young advisor did not heed him, spurred on by the strangeness of this Saturday afternoon.

At the bottom of the stairs,  Ignis was close enough to discern the anxious murmerings.

“By the Gods, how could this have happened?”

“Isn’t that the Marshal’s kid?”

“Oh Six above…”

Confusion rose within Ignis, even as dread curdled in his gut. ‘ _What happened? What’s going on?’_ he wondered.

“Excuse me,” he said instead, pushing his way through the crowd of onlookers.  They parted with relative ease, seemingly too shocked at the sight to put up much resistance.  He heard some protests as he made his way to the front of the crowd, but as he did with his uncle, he paid them no mind.

When finally caught sight of car, oh, how he wished he listened.

There, lying broken on top of the collapsed roof of the car, was you.  Your broken body was highlighted by splashes of an ugly red. Your face, twisted in an awful show of fear.  Eyes, wide and unseeing, stared blankly up at the overcast sky.

Ignis thought he might be sick, bile rising in his throat, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from what is left of you.  He thought he heard his uncle calling to him, trying to push through the, now dense, crowd, but he couldn’t be certain.

Everything-- the calls of his uncle, the crowd of horrified onlookers, the hustle and bustle of the city, the very star itself-- it all faded away, leaving nothing but Ignis and the remains of you-- someone he barely knew, yet was ever present in the background of his life in the Citadel.

Your eyes flicked over to him, boring into his soul

* * *

 

Ignis shot up in his bed, sweating profusely and unable to find his breath.  

It took him several moments to calm down enough to get a full lungful of air, fists clenched in his sheets, and eyes furiously blinking away the sweat.   _Sweat_ , not tears; nineteen is too old to be brought to tears by a _dream_.  Especially one that he’s had for weeks.

It has been almost a month since your death.  Your funeral has come and gone. Ignis had not attended, feigning illness and apologizing to the grieving Marshal.  Truthfully, Ignis was afraid of how he might react to seeing your body once more, even if you were cleaned up to imitate a peaceful rest.

Sighing, Ignis shook his head to clear the morbid thoughts.   _Another restless sleep_ , he thought, glancing over at his alarm clock.  Callous, red digits glared back at him; seemingly judgmental were it not for absurdness of that thought.  

3:17.

“ _Wonderful_ ,” he huffed, falling back onto his bed and rubbing his eyes, “not enough time to fall back asleep, but not enough rest to stay awake.”  Feeling drained, he allowed himself several moments of self pity, silently damning everything that lead to his sleepless present, before slowly dragging himself out of bed for a cup of coffee.

If he was going to wake up at ungodly hours every night, might as well make these moments productive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ still isn't beta read, but I hope you enjoy this anyway. 
> 
> It's so hard to write a POV of a canon character. It's so hard to keep everything in character. and there's people out there who do this regularly?
> 
> Guess where I gave up and left it for almost 6 months.


End file.
